A Nation's Fall
by Journal3Cipher
Summary: Ivan's just getting sicker, and Alfred is the only one who can help... But there's a chance that it's too late. America x Russia.


**A few things to note before we start-**

**1- This is my first Hetalia story ever.**

**2- This is my first America/Russia anything ever.**

**3- I got this idea from a documentary we watched in my science class. I just couldn't resist it after hearing about it.**

**4- I'm not exactly sure when this takes place.**

**All that being said, I hope you enjoy the story. Please review and tell me what you thought. **

"Thanks for coming, Alfred. I... It means a lot to me, I-"

A sudden burst of coughing interrupted Ivan's sentence, and he lifted his gloved hand to cover his mouth. Fluid splattered all over his palm. Alfred watched him double over and continue hacking, not making a move towards the larger nation.

"Of course. I know you've got financial problems, and I couldn't just stand by and do nothing when I knew you were dying."

Ivan smiled, his cough subsiding. He looked up at Alfred, who was watching him with an uncharacteristic serious expression on his face and fierce emotion hiding behind his sky-blue eyes.

"Da, thank you very much for all your help. This isn't easy, you know..."

"I know," Alfred said quietly, turning his head and looking away from Ivan. "I had tons of problems with tuberculosis too, when I was younger. But..."

"This is worse?" Ivan rubbed his hands together and pulled his faded pink scarf up over his mouth. His words were wrought with terrible sorrow, as well as a weak pleading that made Alfred's heart sink. Seeing the powerful country of Russia broken by something as simple as disease was truly heartbreaking.

"Yeah, this seems worse. What with the millions of people in your country's prisons who are infected... Plus, there was a way for my people to beat it pretty easily. I'm sorry, Ivan, but this isn't going to be so easy."

Ivan was shivering now. Even though the two of them were standing out in the middle of another bleak and frozen Siberian night, he wouldn't have normally been affected by the cold like this. He seemed pale and weak, and trying so hard not to cough. Alfred knew he was slowly drowning from the liquids rising in his lungs, and was honestly surprised he had held up as well as he had for so long.

"I'm here for you, Ivan. I've got some type-B medicine for the drug-resistant strains, but I don't know what they'll be able to do..."

"Da..." Ivan broke out into another round of coughing, each one ripping through his throat and causing him to spit out more fluids, this time mixed with flecks of blood. Alfred covered his own mouth with his hand, as if that were enough to defend him from Ivan's contagion.

"I- I'm sorry, A-Alfred..."

"For what?"

"For making you go to all this trouble for me-"

"No, Ivan, shut up. It's my duty as a country to help those around me."

"But why? You remember the Cold War between us, da? The arms race, the embargoes? We've been bitter enemies for as long as I can remember-"

"That doesn't matter! The past is behind us! All that matters is now, and now you're dying. You need to understand that. I'm going to save you. I can't watch such a great nation fall like this."

Alfred felt hot tears spring up in the corners of his eyes, and he dashed them away angrily with the back of his hand. He could feel Ivan's gaze on him, and he turned away from the sick nation.

"I can't let you go..."

"You're not acting like yourself," Ivan whispered.

"Neither are you," Alfred replied.

The two of them stood in silence for a few moments, before Ivan's horrible coughing split through the cold air and cut Alfred's remaining optimism like a silver blade.

Ivan dropped to his knees in the snow, clutching the front of his coat, the relentless attacker inside his lungs not letting up.

The sounds of Ivan's agony was eventually too much, and Alfred whirled back to face him, kneeling at his side and resting his hand on his shoulder.

"What can I do?"

"What... You're already... Doing is... Enough," the Russian managed to choke out between coughs. Tears were now streaming down his cheeks and dropping off into the snow.

Alfred suddenly encircled Ivan's shoulders with his arms, holding him close. The dying nation shut his eyes and leaned the side of his head against Alfred's chest, his fingers winding themselves further into the folds of his own coat with each shaking breath he took.

"I'm so sorry..."

The American's words were barely a whisper on the wind, swept away by the winter storm. But Ivan heard them.

The Russian's tears were soaking the front of Alfred's jacket, but the golden-haired country didn't care. What happened to him didn't matter right now.

All that mattered was the once-grand nation withering away in his arms.

~~~TIME SKIP

"We can't afford to exhaust all our medical resources on Russia, you idiot! We've got problems of our own, you know," Alfred's boss scolded, slamming his fist down on his desk. Alfred refused to meet the man's rage-filled eyes, instead staring down at the floor. He set his jaw, narrowing his eyes.

"We may not be at war with Braginsky's country right now, but we're certainly not on good terms with the guy. We're trying to protect his sister from him, and we just generally don't agree with him. Why in hell would you think it was a good idea to help him with anything? We can't afford this, Jones!"

"What was I supposed to do? Just let him die?!"

Alfred's boss sat back in his chair, glaring at the now-irate nation in front of him. "Maybe..." He rubbed his temples with his fingers, as if he had a headache.

"You listen to me, you piece of-"

"THAT'S ENOUGH, JONES. I don't want to hear another word about it." The man spun his large wheeled chair around so that he was hidden from sight.

Alfred smacked his palms down on the top of the desk, shouting, "I CAN'T JUST SIT HERE AND DO NOTHING WHEN I KNOW SOMEONE ELSE WILL DIE WITHOUT ME. We haven't had major problems with tuberculosis in DECADES, and yet you want me to hoard all this crap that we don't need and deprive someone of it who actually needs it? What's wrong with you?! Are you even human?!"

There was no response from his boss. Alfred gritted his teeth, his furious stare practically melting holes in the back of the leather chair.

"You're dead inside," he spat, his voice full of intense, pure hatred.

Shaking his head, Alfred spun on his heel and stormed towards the office door. He got as far as turning the doorknob when his boss spoke up again.

"Wait, Jones..." The man sighed. "I... I guess you can keep helping Russia."

"Seriously? Thanks so much! I'm going to go be Ivan's hero now!" A smile smile came onto Alfred's face. He threw the door open and dashed out into the hall.

That may have been something he would normally say, but there was a weight and a blazing compassion behind his simple words that startled his boss considerably.

"Ivan Braginsky, huh...?" The man stared out the large windows he was facing. Raindrops were starting to fall and splatter on the glass, and storm clouds were rolling over the horizon.

"I've got a bad feeling about this..."

~~~TIME SKIP

Ivan's front door was unlocked. This was extremely rare; he pretty much kept all his doors locked all the time to defend him from his psychotic sister Natalia. Now he was apparently open to everyone.

Nevertheless, Alfred felt it necessary to knock on the thick wood to announce his arrival as he swung it open.

"Ivan? You home?"

There was no reply, only silence. Apparently, not even the Baltic States were there.

Cautiously, Alfred took a step over the threshold, his foot causing the wooden floarboards to creak as his weight settled on it. He bit his lip, suddenly apprehensive. The noise seemed so out of place in the dead silence that hung in the air.

"Ivan? Hello? Ivan?" He couldn't force himself to raise his voice above a whisper.

Nevertheless, a low groan echoed through the halls, startling Alfred and making him jump.

"Ivan, is that you?"

The moans continued to float to Alfred like they were coming from down a long tunnel.

The voice seemed to belong to the Russian, but it was hard to tell. Alfred tiptoed down the hall towards the sound. He found one door slightly ajar, and the agonised moans were definitely coming from behind it. Wary, the American placed his palms on the wood and slowly pushed it forward. It swung open.

Ivan was indeed inside that room. All the lights were off, similarly to the rest of the house, and the sick nation was lying in a bed, tossing and turning. He was restless and was murmuring quite a bit, but was asleep. His forehead was slicked with sweat.

Alfred's heart skipped a few beats, and he rushed to Ivan's side. He grabbed the sleeping country's shoulders and shook him back and forth.

"Ivan? Ivan, wake up. Ivan, please wake up." The American received no indication that the Russian had noticed his efforts. His heart pounded, panic starting to seep through his blood and making it run cold.

He continued to shake Ivan's arm, but nothing caused the nation to stir. Alfred quickly pulled off his right glove and placed his palm on the other's forehead, wincing at the pitch his fever had risen to.

Alfred shook his head, sliding his hand back into his glove and sinking to his knees at Ivan's bedside. He pulled back the bedding just a little bit, exposing one of Ivan's hands. Immediately, he grabbed hold of it, gripping tightly with both of his own hands and pulling it up against his forehead.

"Wake up..."

Even though it was unlikely that it would be the end today, the very thought scared Alfred so much that he didn't want to take a single risk. He was afraid that his friend would never wake.

Almost instinctively, Alfred lowered Ivan's hand and pressed his lips against it. The Russian's skin felt cold, despite his high fever.

"Don't stay sleeping. Don't do this to me. Just wake up..."

Tears started to drop onto the bedsheets, one at a time, steadily. Alfred bowed his head, not letting go of Ivan's hand. He couldn't make himself stop crying. Everything he felt rushed out. He was so scared, so sorrowful, so helpless. For the first time, he felt like he wasn't able to be the hero.

He felt like there was nothing he could do.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Ivan's violet eyes fluttered open.

"Al... Alfred...? Is that you...?"

Alfred's head snapped back up, his eyes focusing immediately on Ivan's. The Russian was watching him expectantly.

"Are you okay?"

"That's not something you need to be asking me, Ivan. Are YOU okay?" Ivan nodded in response, but he looked even weaker than he had the last time they had been together. Alfred wiped away the tears that had been running down his cheeks, but more were quickly replacing them. He couldn't contain them, and he continued to weep silently.

"Can you get up, do you think? I brought some more medicine for you."

"Da," Ivan whispered, "but I might need some help..."

Alfred nodded, slowly folding back the bedsheets. Ivan gradually sat up. He was wearing only his pajamas, and Alfred could tell how much weight he had lost. His clothes hung about him like curtains, now much too big.

Alfred grabbed Ivan's arm and slung it over his shoulders, supporting the Russian's weight. Slowly but surely, the two of them stood up, Alfred right there for Ivan.

It took quite some time for them to reach the room's exit, and even longer to get down the hall to the kitchen. When they finally arrived, Alfred eased Ivan down into a chair at the table there. He took some bottles out of his jacket pockets, setting them on the table in front of Ivan.

Moving as quickly as he could, the American got a glass of water and gave it to Ivan, who was already pouring out the appropriate doses of the medications.

After the Russian had taken all he was able to, Alfred asked, "Do you need anything else?"

Ivan coughed a few times, then responded, "You know, I could really go for some vodka right now..." He smiled sweetly at Alfred, almost like he would do normally.

"Uh... You probably shouldn't have any of that right now, bro..."

"Yeah, I know, but I can dream, da?"

Alfred chuckled, sitting down in the chair across the table, but he couldn't shake that dark feeling he had deep down. Ivan didn't appear too scared right now, but that didn't mean he wasn't. The smaller nation remembered how many problems he had with the same disease when he was younger. Sure, it wasn't anything like the plague in Europe had been, but it had been brutal.

"Alfred? Alfred?"

Ivan's voice shattered his reverie. "Huh- oh, sorry, I kinda zoned out there. What is it?"

"I just wanted to... To say thank you. Da. No one else would help me, and I'm too poor to do anything about this. But... But... It's only getting worse. I'm just getting sicker, no matter what drugs you are giving to me."

There it was. There was the fear that had been missing. Alfred could hear it in Ivan's tone, and read it in his amethyst eyes.

"I... I'm only dying faster."

Alfred's heart finally shattered. He reached for Ivan's hand, holding onto it tightly. The sick nation returned the force, gripping the gloved hand like it was his last tie to life.

A solitary tear slipped out of Ivan's eye and rolled down his cheek. It dropped down onto the table when it reached his chin. More followed soon after.

It didn't take long for Alfred to tear up too.

Their hands remained in the centre of the table, fingers entwined, as the tears stained the cloth around them. Ivan's shoulders were shaking now, and he was gasping for air, his free hand clutching his chest.

"It... It hurts..." His breaths were broken up and coming too fast. He squeezed his eyes shut, and squeezed Alfred's hand even tighter.

The American's heart started to race into a panic. His thoughts frantically spun, trying to decide what he should do. He started talking just to try and take Ivan's mind off the pain.

"Ivan, Ivan, look at me. Just look at me. Come on."

The Russian obeyed, prying his eyelids open and staring at Alfred's face with pleading eyes.

"I... Ah, it hurts so much, Alfred..."

"I know, I know. Just keep looking at me, okay? Just listen to my voice and try to calm down. Hey, do you remember that one time when we were working together against the Axis? Francis, Arthur, and Yao were doing their own thing, and it was just us on a team? Or what about that time when we were fighting those aliens and we all got to throw awesome parties for them? Do you remember?"

Ivan smiled a little bit as he struggled for breath, now coughing again. Drops of blood splattered onto the tablecloth, and he quickly brought his free hand up to cover his mouth. Alfred bit his lip and kept talking.

"Ivan, do you remember that time when they wanted to kick you out of the G8, and you just shrugged it off like it was nothing? And how you've been able to fight off your crazy sister each and every time? You're so strong... I know you can make it through this."

The Russian's face fell. "Nyet... I can't..."

"Yes, you can. Don't say things like that."

"I'm... I'm so scared..." His cough finally subsided, but he was still clearly in agony. "I've never been so scared in my life. Not when my country was ruled by the Golden Horde, not any of the times Natalia chased me, not ever. I don't know what to do."

Alfred stood up, shoving his chair backwards in the process, and leaned forward across the table, gently planting a kiss on Ivan's forehead, still not releasing his hand. As soon as he backed away, he mentally slapped himself. Why had he just done that?

Apparently, Ivan was just as confused as he was. "Uh... What was that all about?"

"I dunno, man. It just... I guess I just felt like I should." Alfred rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed, looking anywhere but at the nation in front of him.

That is, until Ivan's cough started up again. His hand slipped from Alfred's and moved to his chest, while the other went over his mouth.

It just wouldn't stop. No matter what. Even if Ivan seemed fine one second, he would surely be suffering the next. There was no escape for him.

Alfred quickly walked around the table and wrapped his arms around Ivan, much like he had done not so long ago, when they were standing out in the snow. Ivan reached up and clung to the front of Alfred's jacket, and he pressed up against the smaller nation, who just held him tighter.

"I'm not giving up on you," Alfred muttered to Ivan, running his fingers through the Russian's light hair. He leaned down a little and placed a kiss on top of the dying nation's head, remaining there for some time. He could hear and feel Ivan weeping against him.

"I... I l-love you too much to let you go. I didn't at first, but... Now I do. I love you. So much, Ivan. I just hate that it took you almost dying for me to realise it."

"I-I love y-y-you too, A-Alfred."

It was Alfred's job now to be the nation's last defence from death. He didn't mind. It made him happy to know that he was helping. It made him happier to know that he was the only thing that could.

After all, Ivan was only getting closer to the edge...

Alfred just hoped he was enough for the one he loved now more than anything.

He knew only one thing- he would never let Ivan go. Not without a fight.

Not without giving his own life first.


End file.
